


Cure

by Plugs



Series: Horrors [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Forced curing of an autistic like condition, Horror, Medical Abuse, mind violation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plugs/pseuds/Plugs
Summary: This is a horror story. Mind the tags.—Prowl smiled at Jazz while maintaining prefect eye contact.He gripped the datapad hard enough to shatter the glass. Prowl’s bleeding servo shook.Prowl kept smiling.
Series: Horrors [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953805
Comments: 21
Kudos: 48





	Cure

**Author's Note:**

> if you work on eliminating “autistic symptoms” and “self-stimulatory behaviors,” if you take away our voice, if you…
> 
> if you…
> 
> if you…
> 
> Then I…
> 
> I…
> 
> Bascom, J. (2011) Quiet hands. Available at: https://juststimming.wordpress.com/2011/10/05/quiet-hands/

Ratchet stood in his office and watched in fascinated horror. Prowl’s coding scrolled on the projection. It was perfectly functional.

First Aid waited for Ratchet’s response, fear and excitement bubbling in his field.

“You are suspended from medic status, your medical software and integrated equipment will be removed, you will be in the brig until a trial can be convened.” 

“...I don’t understand.”

“That you’ve broken medical ethics?” Ratchet snapped, “That you’ve abused a commanding officer?”

“I was helping him.” Aid pleaded, “He was suffering and other mechs—“

“You will be put on trial for non consensual reprogramming, for causing severe psychological damage to a mech under your care.” Ratchet gripped the desk hard enough to dent it. “Why the frag did you think violating someone’s mind was okay?”

First Aid never answered. Ironhide entered the office and arrested him and cuffed him roughly. His terrified visor met Ratchets optics, pleading with him, begging him to intervene.

Ratchet looked away.

* * *

Prowl gazed at his servos. “I feel everything...and nothing.”

The lights above hurt no more or less if they were bright or dim. Jazz set them up to glow softly regardless.

Prowl picked up a datapad and gazed at the rows of numbers. Once Prowl loved spending hours following their predictable and beautiful patterns. He’d make them dance—often for war, a grim yet satisfying process. But sometimes for play, a symphony Prowl controlled, a world predictable and safe. 

Now Prowl saw only equations, there was no abstraction or beauty. “Why did First Aid take my numbers away?”

“...I don’t know.” Jazz squeezed Prowl’s servo. “Ratch will figure something out.”

* * *

First Aid’s task was to clean stray lines of code from Prowl’s sensory data storage, this would reduce the chance of crashes. 

Ratchet had been very clear First Aid wasn’t to touch anything beyond the stray code lines. It’d be a violation of medical ethics to operate without consent.

Yet a just a few modifications to the social and perceptual programs that caused the stray code would prevent the stray code forming. It hurt to know he couldn’t help Prowl.

Mechs called him a drone. They’d sit there awkwardly as he talked in a flat emotionless voice for hours about mathematics. Prowl would have a blank emotionless face as mechs sobbed or raged at him. So many mechs disliked him or feared him.

So many unhappy mechs, such tiny lines of code.

First Aid disengaged and unplugged from Prowl’s medical ports. “All done.”

“Thank you First Aid.” Prowl nodded curtly.

First Aid watched him leave.

* * *

“How does that feel?” Jazz held Prowls servos in place. ‘turbohound servos’ as Jazz called them. The first time this naming had occurred Prowl barked at Jazz. Other mechs turned and stared faceplates making unreadable shapes.

Jazz had barked back.

Prowl left the past and looked down at his servos. “I don’t know.” Prowl felt nothing. There was no comfort, no sense of his frame falling into its natural patterns and shapes.

Something crashed into Prowl, burning down his faceplates, tearing though his internals. His spark constricted sharply. His optics flooded with tears, as sorrow drowned him.

He had felt sadness before, but never like this. How did other mecha not shatter into pieces if this was normal?

Prowl twitched and shook in Jazz’s arms but didn’t crash.

He never crashed anymore.   


* * *

“...what did I do wrong Jack?” Ratchet rested his aching helm on Wheeljack’s chest. “I told them what functionalism was, why it was wrong—and he still—“ Ratchet choked out a sob.

“Ratch you didn’t do anything wrong.”” Wheeljack stroked his helm. “I don’t know...why he did that but it wasn’t your fault.”

“Ran into Hook on the battlefield last orn—he told me he’d kill Aid if he went anywhere near Mixmaster or any other con with glitch—told me I created a monster and let it run loose because it acted soft.”

“Ratch, Hook...he’s a nasty slagger, and we didn’t see any signs Aid was even capable of something like this, I mean he’s a pacifist for sparks sake.”

“Jack, that’s the point—I saw the pacifism, the empathy for even inanimate objects and somehow missed that he was ignoring consent, ignoring basic fragging rights!” Ratchet paused, “Frag, Jack I’m sorry, you’re his caretaker too—I know you’re hurting and—“

“You asked if ya could talk about Aid and I said yes, ya didn’t just throw this on me.” Wheeljack’s fins pulsed softly. “This...this’ll pass.”

It wouldn’t for Prowl though, would it?

* * *

Ratchet knew Aid would feel guilty, that’d help him now.

He’d never practice medicine again but Defensor was needed so Aid wouldn’t be locked away in a cell. Autobot command knew Aid, they would judge him fairly. He was such a young mech after all.

Ratchet repeated this to himself as the trial dragged on.

Ratchet looked into Aid’s blue visor as he stood up to speak. His bitlet was a caring sensitive mech, Ratchet knew what’d he had done would haunt him. He’d be there for First Aid to hold and comfort him when this was over.

“I did nothing wrong, Prowl was sick—it’s my job to cure sickness.” First Aid looked at the gathered mechs. “He won’t talk at mechs about subjects they find boring, or have incorrect emotional responses—you’ll all like him.” Aid’s optics band burned over-bright. “why aren’t you happy? You’re supposed to be happy—I did what you wanted!”

There was a roaring silence as the room filled with voices.Jazz’s claws had left deep gouges in the table, his optic band burning in rage.The new second in command, Ultra Magnus, frowned at First Aid. But some deeper fear lurked in his optics. 

Ratchet felt distant, as if he was watching himself. Disassociation was a normal reaction to intense stress.

In the blur of mechs and voices First Aid turned his helm and looked into Ratchet’s optics.

Ratchet wished he could look away. 

* * *

Prowl smiled at Jazz while maintaining prefect eye contact.

He gripped the datapad hard enough to shatter the glass. Prowl’s bleeding servo shook.

Prowl kept smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> I read somewhere that good horror is what the author is afraid of. It inspired this fic.


End file.
